


Rescuing Sherlock Holmes

by DemonicSymphony



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dom James Bond, Dom/sub, Explosions, Flogging, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Masturbation, Motorcycles, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Spanking, Sub Q, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Voyeur Q, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3364259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicSymphony/pseuds/DemonicSymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's got himself into trouble and Bond happens to be nearby. What happens when they're left to their own devices is something Q enjoys watching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rescuing Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [3littleowls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3littleowls/gifts).



> Thanks to pretty much everyone in AD chat because I think everyone lent a hand in pulling this together with suggestions here and there. Lots of people looked it over at different places in the process.
> 
> It started out as a series of little blurbs on Tumblr and turned into this.
> 
> Littleowls: Because you rock and are one hell of a cheerleader and friend. Thank you.
> 
> As usual, you can find me on Tumblr at [DemonicSymphony](http://demonicsymphony.tumblr.com/)

The cell was dark, dank, and it reeked. Sherlock had been caught for several days. He had to get out, needed to get out. Suddenly an explosion rocked the compound and Sherlock grabbed the flimsy mattress hauling it over his head. It was better than no protection at all from debris.

The shouting died away as there was another explosion and people ran to help. Sherlock peered out from under his mattress as he heard footsteps. He rolled his eyes as he watched the newcomer smooth out his suit and adjust his tie.

"Holmes," he said with a smirk as Sherlock watched him.

Sherlock’s response was dry, “Bond.” 

Bond leaned against the cell door and looked over Sherlock. “Well, you don’t seem too worse for wear this time. It’s been what, six months?”

“Seven and a few days, but who’s counting?” Sherlock said . “Now are you going to stand there and look pretty in that suit, or are you going to get me the hell out of here?”

With a snort, Bond raked his eyes over Sherlock as he said, “Still working on that cell door?” He paused, listening before he spoke again, “I didn’t set the charge off early, Q. I merely sped up the timeline.”

“If you two are done flirting-” Sherlock was cut off as the cell clicked open.

Bond held out his hand. “Shall we darling? Wouldn’t want a repeat of Rio, would we?”

Sherlock huffed but curled his hand around James’s, trusting him completely.

Getting out of the compound was far easier with Bond than Sherlock wanted to admit. Of course when you have MI6’s quartermaster directing you on the other end of the coms, anything would be easier. Sherlock rolled his eyes when they got to the motorbike and blew out a huff of air when Bond tossed him the helmet.

A few minutes later, Sherlock was wrapped around Bond. He could hear Q through his helmet as Bond sped them away from the compound.

"And brace, gentlemen. Explosion in three, two, one," Q murmured to them.

Sherlock wasn’t quite prepared for the heat or sound that roared up behind them and his grip inadvertently tightened on Bond. A low chuckle sounded in his ear.

"Easy there, Sherlock. I’ve got you. Safe as houses." 

He felt a hand pat his own and Sherlock let out a strangled noise.

"I’ll thank you to keep both hands on this bloody bike, Bond." Sherlock’s grip didn’t ease as he watched the scenery fly by.

"Not fond of traveling this way?" Bond quipped as they took a sharp corner.

There was a small groan from Sherlock before Bond heard, “Only if I’m the one driving!”

By the time they made it back to the hotel, Q had complimented Sherlock a couple of times on his creative uses of numerous languages to swear at Bond in. 

Bond slipped off the bike after Sherlock stumbled from it and Sherlock hated him just a little for how unruffled he looked. Holding out his hand for Sherlock’s helmet, Bond winked. “Come along then, Sherlock. Let’s get you in, showered, and fed, shall we?”

With a glare, Sherlock let Bond have the helmet and followed him into the posh hotel, ignoring the stares of the staff as Bond led him to the lift. Sherlock concentrated on the hand pressed to the small of his back, something possessive and reassuring in the way it was splayed there. He ignored the conversation as Bond carried on speaking to Q, his mind still rattling on after having been captured. He found himself unable to slow it down. Unable to stop processing the information he’d gleaned on their way out. When they reached the room, Sherlock started pacing. 

Bond cleared his throat and gently wrapped a hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck, squeezing with light pressure until Sherlock let his shoulders drop and relaxed.

"It will keep. Whatever is going through your mind, let it go for now. Shower, Sherlock." He tossed him a pair of light cotton trousers. "When you’re through, we’ll eat."

Sherlock couldn’t help the easing of tension across his face, somewhat soothed by Bond’s presence and the promise of control. He disappeared into the bathroom, only barely catching Bond continuing to talk to Q and something about, ‘For heaven’s sake, Q, yes, I have all the supplies.’ His mouth twitched up in the corner, remembering the ‘supplies’ Bond had brought along last time he’d seen him.

A short time later, still rubbing a towel over his head, Sherlock came out of the bathroom and was startled by Bond’s hand sliding over the small of his back. He was guided to a nest of pillows and blankets on the floor beside the table.

"Kneel there, Sherlock." Bond waved his hand at the nest.

Without argument, Sherlock knelt beside the table and looked up at Bond, relief evident in his face that he hadn’t misread the intent in Bond’s hand on his neck.

Bond slid fingertips over his jaw. “Tell me right now if you don’t want this. It stops, you eat, you go rest.”

Sherlock shook his head, “No- ah, no it’s fine. Really.” He swallowed and leaned into the touch.

An almost feral smile settled on Bond’s lips and Sherlock heard, “James, honestly. You’re blocking my view! Move.”

Leaning around James, Sherlock spied the laptop. He arched a brow before looking back up to James. When he leaned back to look at Q, he smiled.. “Quartermaster, hadn’t taken you for a voyeur”

Q grinned on the screen. “Oh, my dear Sherlock, you have _no idea_. Since I can’t be there to play with James, I want to at least _watch_.”

Sherlock looked back up at James. “You took my advice then.”

“What advice?” Q asked. “James!” He made a noise of frustration when they both only watched him and then he snorted. “Of course. You’re the one who told him to show up at my flat when he got back from Rio.”

James tapped Sherlock’s jaw, bringing his attention back to him. “If you want everything to stop, you need only say Skyfall.”

Sherlock licked his lips. “Yes, _Commander_.”

James settled in the chair beside Sherlock, stroking his hair before he picked up a cube of cheese and fed it to him. “We’re going to eat. You’re going to drink a good bit of water, and then we’ll see how you feel. Understood?”

Sherlock finished swallowing and ducked his head as he answered, “Yes, Sir.”

"Good man." James slipped a grape into Sherlock’s mouth. He handed down a bottle of water. "Drink as much as you want, but I expect all of it to be gone by the time we’re done. You can have more as you need it."

When James's hand came back, Sherlock kissed along his fingertips after taking the small bit of ham he was offered. There was a low rumble of pleasure from James and Q let out a happy little sigh.

"I told you he’d be perfect, James."

James looked over to the screen and arched a brow. “Just because I am not home,” he paused. “You know how to address me, Q.”

Q fidgeted and cleared his throat. “Yes, Sir.” He failed to hide the twitch of his lips.

By the time the meal was over, Sherlock was exhausted. The weight of the last few days in captivity with little to eat or drink, and even less sleep weighed him down. James urged him to his feet and winked to Q as he steered Sherlock to one of the bedrooms in the suite.

Sherlock sighed as he was tucked into bed and James's fingers trailed over his jaw. 

"Sleep, Sherlock. We have a day or so here before we are cleared to leave." James gave one last stroke to his hair before slipping back out. 

Through the cracked door, Sherlock heard James instructing Q to strip for him.

Sherlock woke to bright sunshine streaming in his window. He groaned and slipped out of bed, trudging to the bathroom. When he came out, James was seated at the table, fruits, coffee, and juice spread out in front of him. 

James looked up with a smile. “Hello, Sherlock. Feeling better? Well rested?”

With a small hum and nod, Sherlock moved to the table, where James pushed out a chair with his foot. 

"Eat. I believe there are things we did not finish."

Sherlock looked back up, quirking a brow. “Oh?”

James finally looked away from the Russian paper he was reading. “Yes. Poor Q isn’t allowed any orgasms until I’ve got my hands on you or I get home, whichever. Poor boffin’s about out of his head after how much I teased him yesterday.”

With a small grin on his face, Sherlock took up his coffee. “I suppose I’d better hurry and eat before he goes completely mad then.”

The smirk on James's face was hidden again behind the paper, though he did shift so he could press his leg against Sherlock’s.

"Good man."

When Sherlock finished eating, James put his paper aside and moved to the laptop. A moment later a sleepy Q appeared in bed, hair ruffled and squinting without his glasses.

"Mm, morning, darling sir.” Q fished for his glasses, smiling when he pulled them on.

James smiled indulgently. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

"Mm, some wonderful dreams." He sat up, stretching. One of James's too-big long-sleeved tees hung off of one shoulder.

"Sherlock." James turned to him for a moment. "Clothes off, face down on the bed. What’s the safe word?"

Sherlock blinked and moved toward the bedrooms. “Yours? And Skyfall, Commander Bond.”

James scooped up the laptop and followed Sherlock. “Yes, my bed.”

He watched shamelessly as Sherlock slid out of the soft pyjama bottoms and crawled onto the bed, sprawling out on his stomach with his face turned to James and the laptop he was carrying.

Q let out a small noise of approval. “Oh look at him.”

James chuckled as he sat the laptop on a small table he’d positioned the night before just for this purpose. “How’s that, my darling boy?”

"Mm, perfect. Thank you." Q shuffled around, stripping out of James’s shirt and leaned back in the bed with his laptop.

"Sherlock…" James looked over him. "You’ve been quite a lot of trouble lately, do you know that? I’ve had to clean up after you twice and this time I had to rescue you." He pulled a flogger off the nightstand and let the falls trail over Sherlock’s back.

"What do you suppose we should do about that?"

Sherlock tilted his head as he pretended to think about it. “Well, Sir, it would seem you’re headed in the right direction.

James brought the flogger down on Sherlock’s arse. “Look at that pink already, Q, darling.” When the flogger hit again, Q breathed out a little moan of want.

"James, sir, please."

Glancing over, James could see Q’s lower lip caught between his teeth, his hands tucked under his chin to keep from touching himself.

"Mm, not yet, gorgeous boy. We’re nowhere near that yet," James murmured as he brought the flogger down in a quick succession of strikes.

Sherlock tangled his hands in the sheets, moaning at the strikes. “God. Please.”

"Please what, Sherlock?" James asked as he brought the flogger down harder, snapping it just so enjoying the whine it drew from Sherlock.

"That. Please, that." Sherlock answered with a gasp, nearly presenting himself to James, arse up higher, already starting to try and rock against the bed.

The next blow was harsher. “Ah, ah- Sherlock, do behave for me.”

Q whined from the laptop, “Promise you’re bringing that home.”

James glanced over to him after landing another blow. “Oh, I promise, sweet.”  


The next few minutes were filled with the sounds of strikes and Q and Sherlock’s whimpering moans. James watched Sherlock’s skin turn pink.

"Like a bloody matched set, you two," James hummed as he ran his hand over Sherlock’s arse. "When you’re done playing spy, Sherlock, you should come see Q and I in London."

Sherlock moaned as James raked his nails down his back. “God yes.”

"Now, you’ve got to start being more careful, darling. I won’t always be here to bail you out. I do have other things to do for Her Majesty’s service." James put the flogger aside and brought his hand down on Sherlock’s arse several times in rapid succession.

Q was nearly beside himself, chewing on his lip as he balled his hands under his chin again.

"Ah- Q, stop squirming so much," James admonished as he started pulling off his clothing, the buttons of his shirt slowly undone as Q watched and Sherlock tipped his head in order to see.

"Such gorgeous boys. All for me." The smile on James's face said it all.

James finished stripping and climbed on the bed behind Sherlock with a bottle in his hand. He knelt between Sherlock’s legs and drizzled the warmed massage oil over Sherlock’s back. 

Sherlock groaned as rough hands started massaging him, his eyes falling shut as he listened to Q suck in a breath in the background.

“Please,” Q murmured.

“Q, if you cannot behave you’ll wait until I get back home.” James continued massaging Sherlock’s back, looking over at Q.

Q fell silent and Sherlock let the waves of relaxation wash over him as James worked out knots and massaged oil into his scars here and there. 

James's hands worked lower to Sherlock’s arse, dipping down until Sherlock was arching. He chuckled as Sherlock whined, trying to make James touch him where he wanted.

“Easy, Sherlock. We’ll get there. You’ve got poor Q nearly trembling,” he admonished as he massaged Sherlock’s thighs.

Sherlock let out a quiet huff but stilled. 

James looked over to Q. He winked to him as he urged Sherlock to his knees, leaving him on display. 

Sherlock groaned, a low, wrecked thing when James's tongue teased over his entrance. He could feel James's thumbs drawing him further open and he rubbed his face against the bed as James's tongue delved further in. His mind shut down to _James_.

The tongue driving him insane kept going; the slide of it against him an exquisite form of torture as it was interspersed with the bright flashes of James's teeth on him.  
He was begging before he realized it, James's name a litany on his tongue, French rolling off his lips in a continuous stream.  
Sherlock whimpered when James drew away.

“Easy, Sherlock. I’ve got you,” James murmured as he oiled his fingers. With gentle a gentle caress, he brushed them over Sherlock’s entrance, drawing a low, soft moan from him.

“That’s it, Sherlock.” James rubbed oil over him before pressing a finger into Sherlock.

Q stifled a moan and Sherlock turned his head again to watch. Sherlock’s eyes were half lidded as James worked him open. The movements drawing soft gasps and small pleas from him. Soon he was bucking back against James's hand, panting as his fingers dug into the sheets. When James slid the third finger into him, he gasped, French on his lips once more.

James smirked at Q as he spread his fingers, brushing over Sherlock’s prostate, just to hear the French swears he knew Sherlock capable of. “Mmm, beautiful,” he praised as he withdrew his fingers and leaned to the bedside table for a condom. 

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, brain clawing to the forefront despite the heady atmosphere. “It’s not latex is it?” He murmured in question as he saw the condom go by his face.

“Do give me a little credit, Sherlock. Seduction is part of my job.”

There was a snort from the computer and Sherlock looked back to Q. “If he keeps it up, Her Majesty is going to have to buy stock in manufacturers. Honestly, you should see the purchase orders for the double-oh depar-”

James cleared his throat causing Sherlock and Q to look at him with twin sheepish expressions.

“Are you two done discussing this? Or would you both rather watch me get off and suffer without orgasms?” He arched a brow.

A brief look of alarm passed over both their faces and James soothed Sherlock with a gentle hand running over his arse. 

“Are you comfortable, Q?” James asked as he looked over to him again. 

Q smiled as he shifted in the bed, moving his laptop so that his body was on display from his head to his knees, cock lying hard against his stomach. 

“I am now, Sir.”

James opened the condom and rolled it onto himself, admiring the view he had of them both. “Bloody gorgeous you two are.”

He brought his hand down on Sherlock’s arse. The sharp slap left Sherlock’s cheek pinkening underneath.

“God yes.” Sherlock gripped the sheets again.. “Please,” he begged, head dropping. “I need it.”

Glancing over to Q, James smiled. “Not until I say, gorgeous boy,” he reminded in an affectionate tone. Sliding a hand over Sherlock again, he shifted until he was pressing against him.

Sherlock groaned, curls brushing the sheets as James pressed in. The slow slide of him made Sherlock arch his back, pressing against James, trying to make him hurry. It earned him a rough slap to his arse.

“My pace, Sherlock,” James growled.

With a low moan of acceptance, Sherlock kept still, letting James slide in the infuriatingly slow push he was insisting upon. The stretch, despite preparation was something Sherlock relished as it made his hands clutch at the pillows. When James fully settled, hand stroking over Sherlock’s back, Sherlock whimpered in want.

“Christ,” Sherlock groaned, only looking up when he heard Q moan. Q looked exquisite with his hand wrapped loosely around his cock, fingers trailing over himself. _Fuck_ , Sherlock thought as he watched Q while James rolled his hips. A small strangled noise escaped Sherlock when Q arched as he stroked himself.

James rocked into Sherlock with slow, gentle thrusts, watching Q time his movements with his own.

Sherlock was fighting to stay still, jaw twitching with the want to beg, to _order_ James to hurry up. He gasped, his head coming up and tipping back as the plea broke his lips. A ragged little breath escaping after it. “ _James_.”

Sherlock was rewarded with a harder thrust, hands wrapping around his hips for leverage as James stopped teasing. He could hear Q’s breathless little moans coming through the speakers as he kept pace with James's thrusts.

“Fuck,” Sherlock gasped as James brought a hand down on him. The sting and slight burn spread warmth through him, going straight to his cock and made his head drop again as he begged for more.

Q’s moans were turning into soft, pleading whines and Sherlock caught sight of him desperately tugging on a nipple as he stroked himself.

James's voice was a low, dark rumble as he fucked Sherlock, “That’s it, boys. My good boys.” He drove each word with a thrust, drawing small, pleading cries from Sherlock.

“Don’t stop, please. James, _Sir_ ,” Sherlock pled, starting to rock back, meeting each thrust. 

Q’s moans were growing sharper, interrupted by small gasps and the sound of his hand coming down sharply on his thigh.

“When I get back, I’m going to bend you over the sofa and spank you until your arse is red and you’re begging to come, Q,” Bond growled as he watched, thrusts growing rougher, quicker in Sherlock as he brought a hand down on him. 

“And you,” he continued, addressing Sherlock, “are going to come over, and I’m going to spend days taking the both of you apart. Mark you both as mine so no one has any doubts. My boys, my gorgeous little fucktoys. Make you beg. Make you plead with me.” James's thrusts were growing somewhat erratic as he spoke.

Sherlock broke, pleading with James to come, his languages shifting, caught between a twist of English and French..

James glanced to Q, watching his hand stutter on himself as he tried to hold back. Dropping his eyes back to Sherlock, his hand slid around to stroke him. “That’s it,” he praised. “That’s it, beautiful boys.”

He felt Sherlock tensing under him. “Come for me, Sherlock.”

Sherlock cried out as he arched, trembling beneath James as he came. He collapsed onto his elbows as James worked him through it, fingers expertly working him until he was near boneless.

Q was near sobbing as he pled for James. One hand was tangled in his hair, tugging in an approximation of James's grip as his hand stuttered over his cock. “I- please, god. James. James, _Sir_.”

James chased his own orgasm, rocking into Sherlock with hands on the small of his back and one on his hip. “That’s it, Q. Come for me, love. Let me see,” James commanded.

He watched as Q arched, hand wrapped around himself. Watched as he tugged his hair and fell into the familiar moans and near worshipful words of his orgasm. The sight of Q coming undone for him was enough for James to let go and he thrust twice more before curling over Sherlock’s back as he came. His grip tightened on Sherlock’s hip drawing a low, pleased moan from Sherlock.

For a few minutes, all any of them heard was the struggle to catch breath. There were soft pants and pleased murmurs until James eased from Sherlock and binned the condom. He pushed Sherlock to his side with gentle movements before slipping from bed. When he returned with a damp cloth, he moved the laptop closer.

“You have my jumper, darling?” He asked Q as he cleaned Sherlock and drew the duvet over him.

Q smiled as he finished cleaning himself up and slipped into James's jumper. “Yes, sir,” he murmured..

“Under the blanket then. Curl up with us, love.”James slid under the blanket with Sherlock and stroked his hair as he watched Q settle back in the bed, wrapped up warm and safe in the dark blue cashmere jumper. His mouth quirked at how it swallowed Q’s more slender frame. 

Once Q was settled and watching them, James set up a gentle, rumbling flow of words, praising them both. He watched as both of them drifted off, Q eventually burying his face in James's pillow at home. Leaving the connection open, so Q wouldn’t be completely alone, he let himself relax, hand curled over Sherlock’s hip.

**Author's Note:**

> I picked and picked and picked at this, trying to get it perfect. But I'm hopeless at catching everything on my own sometimes. So if you see something glaring, drop me a line!


End file.
